


Cold Feet

by thejourneymaninn



Series: Stepping Stones [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (as in actual zzz zzz sleep), Comfort, Cuddling, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Sleeping Together, Tiny bit of Angst, haven’t reached the lovers part yet though, only slowly getting to the friends state, pre-fenders - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8469505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: At night in his bed, with an elf who might have become something like a friend at his side, Anders reflects on how the last weeks have changed their relationship.Follow-up to Beyond the Debris, and second part of the Stepping Stones series. The instalments are connected and in chronological order, but can also be read separately.





	

The air was cold against his skin, like being tickled by icy fingers. Most people might have found that annoying, but he liked it. Always had. Or at least since they had taken it away from him, this vibrant, sudden cold, and replaced it with a constant one, walls of grey stone around him, no fresh air ever meeting his skin, only bleakness seeping in. But there were only his own walls around him here, no doors without keys, and he welcomed the bite of the air like the caress of an old friend.

Winter, or what passed for winter in these regions, had reached Darktown, and he was still a true Anderfels boy after all these years, even though his only connection to this place of birth, not life, was a name strangers had given him. Immune to cold and heat alike. And tasting of despair. Was that what had brought Fenris here, all those weeks ago? A similar pain? Or had it merely been pity?

For there was pain in the elf, roaring yet leashed, not healed but come to terms with, acknowledged in ways Anders had never managed. A lesson he almost wished he hadn’t learned. Anders prided himself on naming things as what they were, on facing what the world refused to see, yet from this he had shied, this he had closed his eyes to, deliberately, cowardly. Sometimes, cruelly.

Another gust of wind made its way across the debris, and the elf moved closer, nestling into him, accepting what Anders could give him, warmth and comfort, something he had forgotten was still his to give. With his body, not his words. But it seemed that was all Fenris needed. Perhaps all he wanted.

Fenris hated the cold, although he never would have admitted it bothered him. Yet his body thought less of pride and pretence. The icier the air around them, the tighter Fenris hugged him, the more he tried to soak up his warmth. Anders had learned that about him. He had learned many things since the elf had first snuggled into his back. It still baffled him, from time to time, that Fenris would do that, would not only accept his touch but seek it out. Fall asleep next to him, in his arms, trusting that he would not be harmed. The elf feared to be harmed. Was wary of touch. And yet craved it. Other lessons Anders had learned, slowly, silently. First only gratitude, then almost care, now both of it, and admiration. They did talk sometimes, a little more lately, yet most stories were still whispered to him through Fenris’ body, the hesitation of a touch, the frown at a caring word, the smoothness of his brow when he relaxed in his sleep. And the jerking of limbs, the sweating terror when he did not, when Anders had to coax him out of nightmares he never named.

“You looked lonely. I wanted to help.” Direct, as was the elf’s way, but without his usual brusqueness. Anders wasn’t sure how the words had managed to reach him, how they had not bounced off the barrier he had built against those piercing green eyes. Perhaps it was awaking to his sleeping form, watching him breathe, his mind in a place far away, at peace, his body left unprotected, at Anders’ mercy, in his bed, of his own volition. A trust not earned, yet given. Perhaps it was gratitude that Fenris had come for him, had sought him out that night, when he was drowning, the air around him too thick to scream, too hollowed-out for tears and yet about to choke on them. Alone. Discarded by a world that did not care whether he lived or died. But then someone _had_ cared. Although it happened to be someone _Anders_ did not care about. Had not cared about. He couldn’t claim that anymore. Perhaps it had always been a lie.

Why Fenris had come to him that night, he still didn’t fully understand. It hadn’t been the first time the elf had been unexpectedly kind, but as the previous one had involved severe injury and the near loss of life, a little uncharacteristic behaviour was probably to be expected. But this? At first Anders had thought it might be gratitude, a sense of obligation, yet the more he thought back on that night, the elf covered in blood, weak, almost dying in his arms, the less certain he was of it. Fenris’ confusion when he woke up, his dry humour (the elf could joke, who would have known? Or…did everyone else and had Anders just never listened?), his…tolerance, if not forgiveness, of the one thing Anders _did_ feel sorry for, it hadn’t felt like forced civility covering hatred. It had felt almost like… companionship. Exasperated and frail, but there.

He wished he could claim it had changed things between them, but truth be told, they stayed mostly the same. Until the night Fenris came to him, crawled up against his sleeping body and held him through the night, like a rock made of lyrium and defiance. And gentleness. Everything about their nights was gentle. So unlike their days. After that first one, when they had finally left Anders’ bed and each other to face their days, separately, no words spoken beyond goodbyes and good wishes, Anders had felt a strange, scary emptiness. As the shadows around him had grown longer, it had grown with them.

In the dark of the following night, in his makeshift quarters, this tiny hole of a home, he had lain awake and wondered. Wondered about foolish things. And then there had been footsteps, not the clunky sounds of boots coming to drag him away, from freedom, from himself, but soft, bare soles. And he had hoped, for foolish things. Had listened to the sound of someone scaling the rubble, a crown of white hair the first thing he saw, a small, lean body following, climbing down. Fenris, standing at the foot of his bed as if frozen there, eyes flitting around, hands restless in that way that always clawed at Anders’ heart. (Had he really found it annoying once?) He looked so small, so lost, and fragile. And strong. Strong enough to come back, stronger than Anders would ever have been. Not a wild animal. A brave man. And yet so scared, ready to run at any moment. He did not speak, did not ask the question, and Anders did not answer. But he did lift the covers and scooted over to the side.

Fenris was next to him almost instantly. Still not looking at him, stiff, uncertain, until Anders wrapped his arms around him. It was the first time Anders heard him sigh contently. But not the last.

He came back every night, after that. Let Anders hold him. Held him in return. Comfort had its own, steady flow; it didn’t need to be given or taken. Their touches never went beyond arms wrapping tightly, hands soothingly rubbing circles on the other’s back, carding through hair, sometimes, and legs entangling, cold feet searching for warmth….Although tonight, cold didn’t cut it; those feet were just about blizzard-temperature. And as much as Anders enjoyed Fenris inching closer, there wasn’t really any _closer_ left, unless… No. Bad idea.

“Are you freezing?” he whispered into the darkness, against soft, white hair, “I can get a few more blankets tomorrow.”

“I am fine. You need not trouble yourself.”

“Getting a few more large pieces of cloth hardly qualifies as ‘trouble’. I just…want you to be comfortable. I know this isn’t the climate you’re used to.”

“It is not so different from Tevinter. I can cope.”

“Really? I thought it was a lot warmer in Tevinter?”

“And benevolent mages dance across golden plains of freedom while happy slaves smile all around them, I know, mage.” The tone was gruff, yet Anders detected no anger. Resignation, perhaps, a weariness that was not necessarily physical, and could that be…a hint of amusement?

To not be angry….Anders often felt he had forgotten what that was like. But he could try. He could listen to the hum of lyrium in the air, close his eyes, and try.

“I don’t believe there is such a thing as ‘happy slaves’, Fenris. I never did. No one should rule over anyone. I want people to be free. _All_ people.”

“I know. You are not malicious. Merely naïve.”

“You’re such a sweet talker.”

“I get that a lot.”

Anders couldn’t help chuckling. Had he really just never noticed this lurking wit? “I’ll still get you more blankets. Not that I mind keeping you warm, quite the opposite really, but I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Suit yourself.”

“You know, _some_ people would say thank you.”

“And some people would have accepted the offer to sleep in my mansion instead. The one with the _fireplace_.”

“You’ve only offered that once, and you sounded about as enthusiastic as if you were suggesting a visit to the Gallows. Admit it, you like it here.”

Fenris nodded slowly, face still pressed into Anders’ shoulder. “It does feel safe. Like a small world of its own. I…” he hesitated, just long enough to be noticeable, ”enjoy sharing it with you. So long as I am welcome.”

“You’ll always be welcome here, Fenris.”

There was another nod against his shoulder, hair tickling his neck, but no words followed. Slowly, Anders drifted off to sleep, _more blankets_ the last thought on his mind.

 


End file.
